


As Warsaw Fell

by MarietaIvanova



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1940s, Historical, I Don't Even Know, Nazis, Other, Russia eating popcorn in the background, Spies & Secret Agents, World War II, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 10:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13409346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarietaIvanova/pseuds/MarietaIvanova
Summary: Death's most recent stop is Poland, and she gets intrigued by a small resistace group during the Warsaw Uprising of 1944.





	As Warsaw Fell

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Sataton's "Uprising" with elemets from "The Book Thief" by Markus Zusak and "Inglorious Basterds" by Quentin Trantino (that's quite the coctail)
> 
> I spent litteraly 6 months on this and I still don't like it.  
> But I'm glad it's fucking done

  Usually, I don’t like spending time around people. You see – they seem to fear me. Of course, my opinion on things doesn’t matter. I can’t just take a holiday somewhere. I have lots of work to do, in many different locations all over the world. Maybe we have met once, twice, maybe even more, but I tend to not notice. We will meet sooner or later. Please, don’t be fooled. I am not bad, scary, or an antagonist. I am actually far more peaceful than most people seem to think. There are no cloaks and no scythes (Who even came up with that?). And despite our mutual dislike and my tendencies to not pay attention to you – sometimes I break. There was lots of work to be done in this particular point in time. I was most commonly running back and fourth between smoke-infested skies and frozen bodies, but my most recent stop had been Poland. The sky in Warsaw and its surroundings was gray and it just got grayer and grayer with each visit. The colors I saw most often these days were red (And lots of it), black, white and gray (Again, lots of the couple last mentioned.). It was getting repetitive. Of course – not much I could do about it. That was one of the reasons why I chose to not pay attention to the details and instead focus on the task at hand. Plus, I was often in a rush and didn’t have time for such minor things. It was exactly a detail, a person, however, that sparked my interest. I had had a few encounters with him, a Polish general. I noticed he had gone up a rank since our last meeting.

I noticed.

Stanislaw Roznowski was clutching a grenade in his hand. He felt like his feet might betray him any moment, that he could collapse and that would be it, but he kept running. His desired destination was an old broken down pub. The building served as the “high quarters” of his defense group. And oh, what a small and pathetic group it was. They were five in total – himself, a colonel, an officer, and a pair of twins. He opened the door and in one swift motion made his way to the cellar, where his comrades were. I silently stood in the corner. I didn’t want to make myself known; I thought it might give them the wrong idea. So I observed. Witold Sawa was nervously walking, or more like marching, back and fourth. The officer. Though he behaved more like a general than anything, his comrades thought highly of him. He was the perfect military man – responsible, stern, intimidating and brave. But he worried. He worried a lot, especially then. His deep blue eyes darted to the man who was now supporting himself on the doorframe, breathing heavily.

\- Sir? – Stanislaw stumbled to the table and sat on one of the chairs – Are you hurt?

He gave a hint of a smile and shook his head.

\- Don’t worry.

Colonel Igor Nagorski was second in command. And if my memory serves me correctly, he and Roznowski used to be in the same division. They had saved each other’s lives numerous times in the past.

\- We seem to be going nowhere – his voice was hushed, barely audible. But they heard him and so did I. Stanislaw put a hand on his shoulder.

\- Keep your head up, comrade! – They all tried to be optimistic. But from experience I could tell, they were _indeed_ going nowhere. I didn’t dare tell them, however. Because after all, no one really knows what is going to happen, not even me. How long ago did the uprising start anyway? Was it half a month? My thoughts were interrupted as one half of the pair – Anton Kossak – spoke up. Uncertainty flowed smoothly form his voice, like smoke coming from a chimney.

\- Maybe we can send a spy. Someone to inform us about the Germans’ ammunitions and such.

 An overwhelming silence. You could hear a pin drop. My ears were ringing unpleasantly, my interest was spiked up. They all stared at him, intensely, as if a third eye had popped up on his forehead.

\- Anton! – The voice of Mira Kossak was laced with a gentle chuckle of amusement. Surely, he wasn’t serious about it? Witold’s reaction was harsher. His voice raised several octaves.

\- Are you mad?! And if the cover is blown?! You get sent to Auschwitz! – A storm was approaching in his eyes. Said eyes then travelled to the general across from them. There wasn’t even a need to ask the question. A drawn out pause followed. Stanislaw cleared his throat, lost in thought. He quickly returned to Earth.

\- Let’s…not decline the offer too quickly, Witold – his voice was slow, steady – He could be onto something.

Witold’s eyes widened, then his brows furrowed. He gave a humorless chuckle.

\- Sir, please! This is ridiculous!

\- Well, do you have an idea then! – The general’s demeanor changed. His voice was harsh, probably harsher than he intended, and shoulders pulled back. Two pairs of eyes were staring intensely at each other. The officer looked away.

\- I thought so.

\- Who is willing to go? – Witold now sounded apathetic. He might as well have given up then and there. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about! The silence now was welcomed and greatly so. The atmosphere in the room was electrifying. No one dared speak up, not even Anton. Now they were afraid. Of course they were. A minute passed, soon two. I didn’t realize I was counting. And despite the anticipation in the room, I was getting somewhat bored. Distant shots could be heard from outside. I didn’t leave, not yet.

Stanislaw was speaking.

\- I will go.

Finally!

Igor stood up abruptly, pushing the chair he was sitting on back with a screeching sound.

\- Stanisalw! Do you realize what you are getting yourself into? – Witold nodded in agreement. The twins simply stared. Shocked, not really knowing what to say.

\- He is right. You can’t just- You are the most important person among us! – The officer was completely frustrated. But he knew it was no use arguing with the general and Igor knew it as well. So they let him have it his way. Stanislaw’s ability to concentrate properly had completely vanished. He dismissed them with a smile and a wave of his hand. They left and so did I. He stood alone in the cellar for some time.

***

  I watched the Pole observe the runes on his SS uniform in front of the small dirty mirror on the wall. A week or so had passed. Igor, with Anton and Mira’s help, had managed to get his hands on a uniform and identity papers. Stanislaw ran a hand through his hair, repeating the action several times until dark blonde strands were falling in his face. So, the anxiety had finally caught up. I noted that the mission he took up didn’t faze him, until the moment of departure. I could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. He took a few deep breaths. Two steps to the left. Two to the right. The sound of boots on wood caught our attention. Surely, his comrades stood in the doorway. Igor walked up to him and fixed his friend’s hair. He pushed the identity documents into his hand. Stanislaw’s other hand reached for his uniform’s hat. He could almost pass as a perfect Aryan.

Keyword: almost.

\- Corporal Erwin Lenz – Igor smiled and saluted. The other man nodded and went for a less formal handshake. Stanislaw found it somewhat hard to be formal with them. They were his friends – his family even. He felt no need for salutes or for “Sir”. He couldn’t really see them as less than him. They all fought for Warsaw together and it just so happened for him to be their leader. Maybe exactly this was the reason behind their good chemistry.  He bid farewell to all of his comrades one by one.

\- Good luck! – Mira called out.

Yes. He would need it.

-Take care!

He stepped out. That was it. Maybe, just maybe, he could manage to put this act on long enough for them to be victorious. From now on, he could only hope his German wasn’t rusty and that he’d be able to hide his accent well enough. And that they would make it through all of this. I was going to enjoy myself.

I was going to enjoy myself very much.

When Stanislaw reached the German garrison, he was faced with a not-so-welcoming SS-captain by the name of Till Rotmann. Now, Rotmann was an interesting character. If you were to call him a Nazi, he would strongly disagree. “Just because I wear a uniform doesn’t mean I am one!” he would say. But his allegiance was no secret. He had been a member of the party since the 1930’s. He owned and had read the one and only “Mein Kampf”. He enjoyed watching book burnings (Germans really liked burning things back then.). He couldn’t seem to be bothered by the newcomer, hastily asking for rank and name.

\- Erwin Lenz, corporal, – a small pause – Sir!

The German carefully studied him up and down, dark eyes stopping on his iron cross. He smiled and nodded.

\- Ah, good. We need strong men. Those rats just can’t learn their lesson.

I could feel it took all of the Pole’s will not to reach for his pistol. So he stayed silent instead.

\- Come, Herr Lenz – Rotmann motioned for the man to follow him inside. He was introduced to his new “comrades” for an unknown period of time. He then proceeded to explain the situation to Lenz, who found it hard not to not pay attention. He had perfect knowledge, obviously! I couldn’t help but wonder when, and if, they would eventually catch on. Unfortunately, time on my schedule was running out and I could not allow myself to stay any longer.

***

Things were slowly but surely falling apart. The group was now in Igor’s hands. Shootouts were a routine. Old town, Centre, it didn’t matter, really. The songs of bullets could be heard any time of day, at any hour, any district. People didn’t feel safe even in their own homes, but it was understandable. Civilians were helping with whatever they could, some even joining the Resistance. Men, women, and children – it didn’t matter anymore. They were greatly outnumbered. No help from the Allies also. They were on their own.

Mira was the one who decided to join first. She was excellent with a gun. Growing up mostly around men didn’t give her much of a choice anyway. Anton wasn’t as good of a shooter, he preferred fist-fighting. But given the circumstances, he did his best. They always watched out for one another. When it came to her brother, Mira would take on the entire SS armed only with a pocket knife, and he would do the same for her.

The sky was a dark gray, per usual. The usual shootout in the Old town. Mira and Anton just so happened to be send there, along with the others. I was adding souls to my collection while sneaking an eye on them from time to time. It smelled of smoke everywhere. Lots of bullets, lots of hand grenades, lots of Poles bleeding out to death on the streets. I found it admirable. Most of them probably knew they had no chance, yet they never backed down. How humans can go through such things, I can’t comprehend. In the midst of the smoke, shots and confusion, Anton heard a small, barely noticeable, sound. A sharp pain shot through him. He cried out and kneeled on the ground, pressing the wound with his hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. He called out to his sister, until he was repeating her name like a broken record. It wasn’t Mira who found him, but fellow soldiers. They carried him to the nearest hospital.

Wasted efforts. 

Mira found out about it, of course. She nearly started lost it. She visited him and then she never left his side. He talked about their childhood, rambling on about random things. They were terrified. They didn’t know where Witold was, they didn’t know where Igor was, and if she had to be honest, she didn’t care in that moment. Mira just wanted it to be over with. She was tired. They all were. Mira was running her hand through her brother’s hair. It was comforting for both of them. She smiled and he smiled back, at least attempted to. They knew. And so did I.

It was late at night; Mira was wide awake, sitting on a chair by his bed. She carefully listened to his breathing, watching the slight fall and rise of his chest as he slept. Ours eyes met. She didn’t react. She didn’t try to protest. I put a hand over his mouth. I didn’t want to stay there too long. She touched his hand. His chest was still and he was getting cold. Trying to keep her composure she took deep breaths. She didn’t want to look at him. It was cold outside and she just wanted to make sure the others were okay. When the door opened, Witold instantly jumped up, reaching for his gun The girl did not pay him any mind. She sat down and started drifting away, gazing into nothingness.

\- Where were you, you had us worried! – no responses followed.

And then - realization. Witold’s hand was on her shoulder. She broke. Mira was sobbing in front of him and she didn’t even care. Their relationship had always been and interesting one. They might have yelled at each other and threatened each other with guns, due to Witold’s bossy nature and Mira’s stubbornness. But they cared for one another and they knew it. He acted on impulse and pulled her into his arms. She stiffened for a bit, surprised by the sudden hug. They held each other for a moment.

\- Are you hurt? – She shook her head.

\- Thank God!

Small moments like this made my job even less enjoyable

***

   Stanislaw had managed to meet with his group a few times over the past month. The Germans attacked hospitals and had tanks. And, of course, more ammunition. It wasn’t a fair fight by any means. And things were getting worse amongst the three people left. After her brother’s death, Mira became more closed off and there was a little bite of cold in her. The small flame of hope Igor tried to kindle, to keep burning, was slowly dying out. Witold was mostly on his own, since Mira wanted revenge. For her brother, for all of them. She was determined. And she was deadly.  Igor barley showed up anymore, deciding to follow the other groups. That resulted in them moving to the underground with the rest.  They didn’t know anything about their general. They could only hope that at least one of them will survive, whatever happens.

 

The regular songs by the regular bullets and grenades. This time, however, Stanislaw was one of the chosen soldiers. I watched him kill his own. He tried to miss and it worked, most of the time. A few shots were not so lucky. Eventually, Erwin Lenz became famous for his inability to fire a gun. The others would often joke about it, but he couldn’t care less. Self-hatred and guilt were eating him on the inside. Because after all, generals are not supposed to kill their own men!  This scenario repeated over the course of a week. Stanislaw sat with Till while the other smoked and talked about something the blond didn’t quite catch. They had gotten close, as close as a Polish spy could get to a Nazi. There wasn’t anything he wanted to think or talk about, let alone listen to the captain. The man looked at him and passed a cigar his way.

\- Treat yourself, Lenz – the Pole stared at the cigar for a moment. He didn’t smoke, but he hoped it would calm his raging nerves. He might was well throw himself in the rain of bullets and get it over with. But he couldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t be able to last here much longer. They smoked in silence and he was grateful for it. There were no shots, but it wasn’t comforting at all. It even felt…unnatural to him, unusual, to be this silent. Yet he basked in it, determined to keep it as long as possible. A small, precious moment of peace, even next to the enemy.

***

Civilians had helped build barricades.

  They didn’t know where Igor was. Some said he was taken to Auschwitz, others that he got shot, but no one was sure exactly. They just knew he seemingly disappeared. Witold and Mira had also eventually joined their comrades. German and Polish were mingling in his ears. Bullets were raining. He rose up from where he was hiding behind a barricade and shot blindly. He could only hope Stanislaw wasn’t somewhere on the other side. They both got lucky this day.

\- Witold! – Mira’s voice was strained, almost desperate – We have to retreat! We are running low on supplies!  - She quickly kneeled beside him. Her long brunette braid was nearly ruined, hair falling in her face. She was gasping for air.

His eyes narrowed, another storm forming. The woman picked up her gun, shooting a few times, before ducking back down.

\- You are in no position to give me orders!

\- Witold, please! – He ignored her and kept shooting. At this point, he didn’t care what he shot. They were high on adrenaline, their blood on fire. Two more shots and then – nothing. He hissed in frustration, managing to avoid a bullet that was flying his way. The sound buzzed in his ears. A soldier fell next to them, shot in the head. More and more followed.

\- I am not going to let you die too! – She was yelling over the bullets, voice breaking only a little. Their numbers were decreasing rapidly.

Running is a human instinct in the face of danger.

So Mira took his hand and ran, dragging him after her. Another bullet flew past them, grazing the man’s arm. He cursed as he lost his balance for a second. She gripped his hand tighter, panic doubling. Mira ran as fast as her feet carried her. Once safe, she began treating the officer’s wound. She was glad the bullet hadn’t managed to actually enter his body.

\- I apologize in advance.

He pulled through the process, clenching his teeth.

\- Done! – He gave her a grateful smile, followed by another hug.

She gladly returned the gesture, fighting a smile of her own.

 

   Till had caught on. Of course he would, it was only a matter of time. He had called him in a small room, serving the purpose of an office. Erwin hailed (It was also hard for him to Hail Hitler when needed.) as he entered and sat opposite of the German.

\- You wanted to see me, Sir?

The captain simply laughed.

\- Bravo! You actually had me fooled for a moment! – After his laughter quieted he pulled out his pistol – Now. You will tell me who are you working with, yes?

  The general’s blood ran cold. Their gazes met. The Pole’s hand rested on his pistol, just in case. Rotmann wouldn’t shoot him inside the garrison, would he? In the next second, his weapon was pointed towards the German.

\- We will walk out that door, you will come with me to the end of the city, let me go and no one will find out about this! – He tried to keep his voice as hushed as possible, as to not attract unwanted attention.

He stood up. Till followed. One they were outside and on a reasonable distance from the building, Stanislaw pulled the trigger, not even thinking about it, and ran. He knew they would probably look for him. He didn’t care anymore – let them. He was finally going to see his comrades again! It probably wasn’t the best idea to run to the Resistance with an SS uniform on, but he did anyway. Fortunately, they had been informed. Witold and Mira were one of the first people he saw. Waves of joy and relief washed over him. They were alive!

\- Where are Igor and Anton? – He asked with a small hopeful smile on his face after they welcomed him. Their good mood vanished. Mira averted her gaze to the ground. That was enough for him.

  The next day Poland capitulated. Enough lives had been lost. Some of the survivors managed to escape, those who weren't as lucky got sent into camps.

I watched the Nazis destroy Warsaw, saying one final goodbye.


End file.
